Page 24 of The Lover's Eye
“I thought Lord Trevelyan was still grieving,” Isobel continued, the speed of her thoughts bordering on frantic.“Everyone acts as though he’ll never recover, much less court some nameless girl from the country.”
Marriane shot her an admonishing glare.
“What?I am all but nameless to society.I’m not like you, beautiful and talented, capable of charming any gentleman in Town.”Even as she spoke the words, Isobel was forced to acknowledge her sister had changed.She was a wisp of the energetic, vivacious woman she’d once been.It was heart-wrenching to witness.
“Trevelyan was consumed by grief.He’s moped around for months.But men have room in their hearts, Isobel.They seldom content themselves to one woman for a lifetime.”
Isobel stiffened.“Are we speaking of him, or of Pemberton?”
A paper-thin smile stretched Marriane’s mouth.“I know he’s kept a mistress.I could smell her blasted scent on his shirts when he’d come back from the fishing cottage.It’s all quite typical, I assure you, and doesn’t alter the fact that, as an earl, Lord Trevelyan would be a more estimable match for you than a baron’s son.Just stop expecting these men to be honorable creatures, Isobel.I can’t bear it.”
“You think Lord Trevelyan—?”Isobel shook her head, blood swooshing in her ears as the full gravity of her sister’s words absorbed.“Good heavens, you think Pemberton has been unfaithful to you?”
“I know he has been,” Marriane said softly.“As for Trevelyan, he was already keeping one when Miss Gouldsmith went missing, Isobel.Those two were practically undressing each other in public drawing rooms.He was infatuated with her, almost to the point of impropriety.Him offering for her hand was the only noble thing in it.”
Isobel didn’t know why this news should make her stomach swirl with nausea.Trevelyan was a man in his late twenties.An exceedingly handsome, titledgentleman, to be exact.She hadn’t presumed him to be man of no experience, but she grappled with the visual of him as some remorseless rake, parading his mistress in public.
No, his betrothed.Hisbride.
“Marriane.”Isobel reached for her sister’s hands, gripping them tightly.They did not reciprocate the pressure.“Is Pemberton’s behavior the cause of your melancholy?Is he treating you poorly?”
Isobel got one, fleeting glimpse of her sister’s eyes, mahogany depths roiling with pain.And then the barricade returned.Marriane ripped her hands free from her sister’s grasp.“Don’t be absurd.We weren’t fortunate enough to have a mother around to teach us these things, dear.I’m merely trying to disillusion you.To prepare you for the reality of marriage, no matter which man you should choose.”
♦
Isobel brought plenty home with her from Northumberland: a megrim of remarkable tenacity, a basketful of worries for her sister, an insatiable urge to behead Martin Pemberton, and … Lord Trevelyan’s books.
It had been late evening when the coach drew up to Ridgeway House.Isobel’s head had been pounding, and when she went into the library to greet her father, she found him asleep in his chair.It was a blissful excuse to delay their reunion, to allow her to climb into her familiar bed and surrender to unconsciousness.
Her dreams were mercifully blank.The haunting hallmarks of waking life left her in peace, and when she awoke the next morning, Isobel felt capable of drawing breath again.She found her father waiting for her at the breakfast table, already worked up into a fuss.
“What is the matter?”she asked finally.
It was the third time Lord Ridgeway had cursed in a quarter of an hour.The first time was because his coffee was too bitter, the second because he had spilled it all down his dressing robe, and now he was complaining about the eggs.He never complained about the eggs.
“What?”he asked sharply.“Nothing.Nothing.”
Isobel set down her silverware with a clink.“I don’t know why you should be cross.Not only am I safely returned, I came back a full week before we originally intended.”
“Yes, I did receive your letter.What was the reason for your haste, again?”
“Lady Sempill lied and told me I was to return for the Everly Ball.It is to be held the third of April, not February.”Isobel matched her father’s belligerent tone, staring at him levelly.She would not be cowed.
“I see,” the viscount mumbled, fidgeting with the napkin tucked around his throat.“Perhaps there was a reason for that.”
“Yes, perhaps there was, and I should like to know it.”
Lord Ridgeway looked angry for a moment.Isobel could sense the denial hovering on his lips before it faded into a sigh.“Nothing much gets by you, does it, my girl?”
She did not answer.
“It is only that we think it’s time, Isobel.”
Isobel’s eyes turned flinty, flashing with prey-like instinct.“Time?”
“For a formal courtship to begin between you and Elias, of course.”
“No,” she spit out.“Not yet.I am not ready.”
